Rock Steady
by PenPistola
Summary: When the relvatively normal, upright Jin is thrown into the mix with a brash, breakdancing hooligan named Mugen, can the two reconcile their differences to create the ultimate mashhup of Street and Soul? Modern day AU, eventual SLASH.


**Disclaimer:** I don't own Samurai Champloo, or its characters. If I did, that'd be awesome, and there would be at least 50 episodes and a lot more sex.

It was nine-thirty in the morning, and already it was turning out to be a shitty day. Jin sighed, rubbing his temples with the tips of his fingers to try and ease some of the pressure there. He had woken up, gotten ready for work with his usual precision and care, all refreshed and ready to go. Then he'd stepped outside the door of his modest bachelorette and saw the marks. Five feet tall, completely illegible and a combination of garish green, yellow and red. Sometimes Jin still wondered exactly why he'd moved to Los Angeles. He would have to call in to work.

"Takeda, this is the third time this month you've used the graffiti excuse. You either need to come up with a better one, or get a different job!"

Jin winced as the line clicked dead. He couldn't help it if it was true, dammit! Every time after the fifth time this had happened, he had called the police. And every time he was forced to deal with all the bureaucracy and red tape of filing a report and waiting. Waiting for nothing. Nothing _ever_ got done around here, what with all the murder and rape to attract the force's attention. Jin swore that next time, he would simply have to take matters into his own hands.

That evening, as he scrubbed away the last of the paint, an idea began brewing in his head. He knew it was a group that was doing this. A gang, most likely, from what he could tell by the signatures they left after their personalized taunts. He could take on one or two men, but he had no idea how many of them there really were. What was needed was some reconnaissance. It was quite a blow to his dignified standards, but surely it couldn't be too hard to pass himself off as a hobo, and simply watch and wait.

The vandalism occurred sporadically, but generally every three or four days, so it was three evenings later that Jin found himself lying in wait to do his spying. He'd forgone his usual ponytail, roughing his hair up into an unrecognizable mane, and had used some of his old stage paint from his college drama class to an impressive effect. He was unrecognizable, even to himself. He had left the light out in his apartment but the TV on, to give the impression that he was home but not paying attention. The audacity they had to carry out their attacks right under his nose really chapped Jin's ass. But if they came tonight, it was going to stop.

Several hours later, the sky in the east was beginning to lighten. Jin had sat out here in the cool, on his lumpy cardboard box, just waiting, getting the occasional dollar bill from passersby. While that amused him, there had been no sign of the vandals. This whole thing was threatening to be a failure. Jin slumped back in disappointment, letting his eyes droop. There was always tomorrow.

"Hey," came a sharp whisper from Jin's distant right, and he jumped to attention before realizing it wasn't directed at him. "_Hey_," the voice repeated a bit more adamantly, and Jin's acute hearing picked up the scuffle of several feet approaching from the alley perpendicular to his street.

"Yo," came another voice in response to the first. "We gonna hit up Jap Man's house before we call it quits?"

Jin sank further into his cardboard and silently bristled, trying to look as innocuous as possible as the voices and footsteps rounded the corner.

"Fuck, man, whatever," a grumbled a third voice. Jin watched from the corner of his eye as the owner of the voice came into view. "The guy gets so pissed off every time we tag him. One of these days, he's gonna really flip his shit and we'll get—" He cut himself off as he spotted Jin on his cardboard mat. Jin's heart pounded in his chest as he watched the other young man, and the young man watched him. But either they didn't recognize him, or his disguise was exceptionally good, for he relaxed and the gaggle of teens began talking again as if he wasn't there.

"Guy can't do anything about it even if he does see us," the first voice iterated. The speaker was a large male, maybe eighteen or so, thick-set and square jawed. And white. Jin was surprised, but it fell in keeping with the rest of his life in LA. Just when you thought you had the place pegged, it'd throw you for a loop.

"Fuck yeah, man, I'd like to see him try and take one of us on. I seen the guy. He ain't much more than a twig."

Jin blinked under his mess of hair at that. The second speaker wasn't much to look at, nearly as thin as himself and a good half a head shorter. Either way, he had to stifle a small grin. These idiots had no idea what they were getting into.

"C'mon, let's get this shit over with before sunup," the first motioned, and the five of them began stealthily scaling the fire escape up to Jin's third floor apartment.

Jin waited to shrug off his blanket until they had gotten up to the platform and set down their heavy backpacks, dumping out all their spray cans to begin their work. He decided against following them up, as he didn't especially relish the idea of getting accidentally shoved off the stairs to his death, but waiting underneath to fight them seemed like a viable option. He'd have them cornered, able to pick them off one by one.

It took them fifteen minutes to complete the piece, and Jin waited as silently and still as a panther the whole time. He could have stopped them anytime with a single word, but for some reason or another, he watched them do it. There was something fascinating about the strokes they used, the subtle flicks of their wrists that captivated him. It was almost artful. It was almost art. Almost. Finally one of them laid down the last, finishing stroke, and Jin decided it was time to make his move.

"Hey," he called out, in a voice so low he was unsure if the gang would hear it. But like startled prey, each of their heads whipped around so fast to face him it was dizzying to watch. The thick-set one dropped his spray can.

"What the fuck do you want?" he yelled down to Jin, setting his jaw in a manner that Jin supposed was meant to be threatening. Jin wasn't fazed.

"What I want," he said calmly, "is for you _fuckbags_ to get the hell away from my apartment. And never come back."

Realization dawned on the taggers, one after another, producing an assortment of reactions from anger, to horror, to satisfaction.

"Hey, man," called the scrawny one, jerking his head at him and causing his unruly mop of hair to flop. "Just what are you going to do about it?"

Jin kept his expression stoic, but inwardly he was laughing, laughing. "Why don't you come down here and find out?"

"Mother fucker," growled the largest of them, retrieving his spray can and backpack and stomping heavily down the metal stairs. Rather than taking the ladder at the bottom and exposing himself to attack, he grinned a rather malicious grin, and Jin felt his stomach drop. He was going to—

"Raaaaagh!" Jump. Jin felt the impact of the heavy body against his chest and his head against the ground at nearly the same time. He saw white for a moment and felt the breath knocked out of him, but he miraculously hung onto consciousness. He said a quick prayer of thankfulness for adrenaline before he shifted his arms and legs for leverage and threw the heavy teen off of him. He rolled a bit unsteadily back up to his feet, watching with trepidation as two more of them dropped down. So much for one-on-one.

"So you got some moves," the big one taunted, beginning to pace a slow circle around him. The other two followed suit, neither of them nearly as large as their leader but formidable-looking all the same. Seriously, what the fuck did they feed their kids in America? "You gonna fight us, rice ball?"

Jin spat, falling into form. He sure as hell was going to fight them. He didn't really have a choice, now. But rather than dignify the question with a verbal response, he decided to let his fists do the talking.

"Uwagh!" The blow was quick, precise, and would have been deadly if Jin had intended it to be. The knife edge of his hand struck flesh at the juxtaposition of the big one's neck and shoulder, hitting a pressure point and dropping him like a stone.

"What the—? " The other two blinked, watching as Thick-Set-And-Ugly hit the concrete with a dull thud. Jin allowed himself a small smile as he watched them considering, deciding whether or not they would continue the attack. Did they dare? No, they didn't.

"Shit, man, let's get the fuck out of here!" one of them quailed, pausing only to grab onto one of the leader's arms before hauling ass as fast as he could. The other did the same, motioning wide-eyed to the two of them that were still on the ladder coming down.

Jin nodded with satisfaction and stepped aside as they dropped to the ground. If taking out only one of them accomplished his mission, well, that was fine by him. The first one down began to tear away as soon as his feet touched the ground, but now there was a problem. The second, the scrawny one with the wild hair, wasn't leaving.

"Come on, man!" the other cried, poking his head back around the corner and gesticulating wildly for Crazy Hair to follow. Crazy Hair ignored him, staring Jin hard in the face with his fists tensed. "Mugeeen!" The other finally gave up, and with a few exasperated curses, turned and followed the first three into the pale dawn light.

"Me and you," Crazy Hair said once his comrade was gone, pushing back his sleeves. Jin noticed with some interest the banded blue tattoos on his wrists. Then his gaze traveled further up. He wasn't as skinny as Jin had first thought, more wiry muscle than anything. And his eyes, like a cold gray reflection of Jin's, were locked on him like a wolf's, challenging him.

"Me and you," Jin nodded back at him, somehow feeling tenser than when it had been him against three. Something about this guy just set Jin on edge.

He was trying to put his finger on just what it was, when Crazy Hair, or Mugen or whatever his name was, simply dropped to the ground.

'_What?_' Jin thought, his puzzled brain catching up to the situation just a bit too slowly to react. Mugen's leg shot out, following his body as he maneuvered it into an impressive spin. Jin hit the ground before he truly realized what had just happened. '_Did he just take me out with a _breakdance_ move?_' Jin was quick to get back to his feet, but Mugen was faster to throw himself forward, spinning on his palms and landing several quick kicks to Jin's face. And before he could even recover from that, in an impressive show of upper body strength, Mugen vaulted with his hands to lock his knees around Jin's neck, flipping upward and straddling his shoulders to throttle him.

"Urrgh…" Jin reeled, staggering backward and managing to catch a glimpse of the brick wall close behind him. He turned toward it and rammed himself forward, hearing a crack as Mugen's head connected with it. He felt the body above him go limp and heavy, and Mugen slid off him to land dazed on the concrete.

Jin spat blood (on Mugen, of course) and delivered a quick kick to his balls. No need to feel guilty fighting dirty if your opponent didn't. Mugen let out a weak moan and curled in on himself, eyes screwed shut. "Sorry, sorry, I swear…" But Jin wasn't quite done, so he kicked him a few more times in the ribs before he decided he was finished. He looked down at his handiwork and smiled. Who needed the police anyway?

"Come on." He hooked a hand under the young man's collar and hefted him up, giving him a couple smacks to the face. But Mugen didn't revive, the body in Jin's hands as limp and unresponsive as ever. "Well, shit."

Jin hooked his arms under Mugen's armpits and began hauling him up the stairs, none too careful with him and cursing all the way up. He didn't know why the hell he was even doing this. But somehow, it didn't feel right to just leave the guy in the street. Especially if someone saw. People were just starting to wake up, and it wouldn't look good for him to have a beaten-up guy practically on his doorstep.

Finally he made it to his own door, and he set Mugen down to fumble with the key and open it. The TV was still on, soundless pictures flashing and painting the walls in a rainbow of color. Jin found the remote and turned it off. He hated TV. He finished dragging the scruffy teen inside and dumped him unceremoniously on his couch. Jin sure as hell wasn't going out of his way to help the guy, so he wasn't going to do anything more with him, just wait for him to wake up. In the meantime, tea was sounding like a good idea…

**A/N:** Hooray, my first Samurai Champloo fanfic! I've been mulling this idea over in my head for a while, but I'm writing it now because my laptop battery died and I didn't have my Cowboy Bebop to work on. I'm new to the SC fandom, so tell me what you think in terms of characterization, etc.! The title is after my favorite b-boy crew, the Rock Steady Crew. Old school, baby.


End file.
